Deception
by Decipheris
Summary: His chocolate brown eyes are wide with bloodlust as they trail down the boy's form. His lips twist into a satisfied smirk. "Face it skychild. You've lost!" Ghirahim whispers giddily.
1. Things are easier said than done

His chocolate brown eyes are wide with bloodlust as they trail down the boy's form. His lips twist into a satisfied smirk. "Face it skychild. You've lost!" Ghirahim whispers giddily.

The youth clad in green cannot mask his emotions. Tears begin to stream down his face frozen with fear. His eyes are clouded with a variety of emotion. Shame, self pity, perhaps even a little self hatred.

Ghirahim does not rejoice for long. Kicking the ground in bitter disappointment, he huffs. "You know boy, I expected you to put up more of a fight." His tone is harsh, and his dark orbs narrowed. He brushes a gloved hand against the boy's swollen cheek. "Have you really completely given up?"

The latter shudders but does not reply. Kicking out his legs, the demon plops down next to him. The boy is on edge and he tenses slightly. His blue eyes are unwavering and glare at the demon with new strength. _To say that his eyes are blue is like saying that the sun is yellow. Sufficient but not accurate enough to capture their intensity._ Ghirahim mauls over this thought. No, they are cerulean. They sweep over the demon like a cold midwinter breeze. They are sharp and clear, deep and unwavering. Ghirahim almost smiles.

"The eyes are the window to the soul, skychild," he comments softly. "And your eyes have changed a great deal. When I first encountered your pathetic form I looked into them and was rather disappointed. I was looking into the eyes of a mere child. Oh, but the Goddess loves toying with her servants. The more naive her followers are, the quicker they are to serve her. Now I look into your eyes and see they are rife with pain and hatred."

The warrior shrugs and wipes away his tears. His expression is unreadable. How unusual. Since first encountering the skychild, Ghirahim had always found him to be an open book. Still, it would only be a matter of time before the boy would submit to him completely. He almost did. So why wasn't Ghirahim thrilled at this turn of events? He could easily use the skychild's weaknesses as an advantage. After all, he was sure the boy was nearly at his breaking.

After clearing his mind of these troublesome thoughts, Ghirahim stands up and walks over to a full length mirror. He reaches for a brush and begins to comb through fine, silvery hair. "Well, skychild? Aren't you wondering where your beloved is going?"

Link shoots a glare at the demon. "You know she's not alive," he replies hoarsely.

"Oh not her. I'm talking about me, silly boy."

By now the boy has stopped crying, his mind struggling to accept the series of events that have just transpired.

He manages to ignore the playful smirk on the demon's lips.

"What are talking about?"

The demon turns around swiftly and looks at Link in mock surprise. "Honestly, how stupid can you get?" He smirks and advanced towards the fallen hero. "You don't really think I'm going to just let you go, do you?" He relishes the look of horror on the boy's face. "No, you're staying with me. It's not like you have anywhere to go, anyway. Your little girlfriend has been sacrificed and my master reborn. You're _mine_ now. This is, of course, assuming that master allows me to keep you." For a second a look of worry passes the demon's features, but Link doesn't notice.

He had ventured through Skyview Temple with the help of one of Hylia's familiars, Fi. His goal had been to find and defeat Ghirahim, the demon which held Zelda captive. If he had managed to defeat him, then Zelda's soul wouldn't have been consumed, and half the residence of Skyloft wouldn't be dead. Ghirahim wouldn't have received complete power over everyone and everything, and Link could declare with absolute certainty, that he would live a long, healthy life free of troubles. He would have married Zelda, and they would have lived happily ever after. Needless to say, things are easier said than done.


	2. A Heart Grown Cold

It doesn't take long before Ghirahim returns. Gripped loosely in his gloved hands are a pair of leather cuffs. Link casts a nervous glance at the demon, who in turn flashes a radiant smile.

"I had these custom made, skychild." With a snap of his fingers, he teleports only mere inches away from Link's face and kneels to his height. Link grinds his teeth in irritation. Knowing Ghirahim, he would probably be thrown into a dungeon and left to starve to death. Or perhaps not. So far, Ghirahim seems to prefer to toy with him. Death will not come for some time. And for this Link is glad. Hatred burns fiercely in the depths of his heart and he wants nothing more than to take it out on this demon. He will avenge Zelda and all the others who had fallen trying to stifle this terrible curse.

"You have a terrible look in your eyes," Ghirahim comments as he fastens the cuffs around the boy's wrists. "I like it. You're certainly a bit of a challenge. You always have been," he confesses with a sigh. "But by the time I'm done with you, you'll submit completely to my will." A self-satisfied smirk rests on his lips. They are terribly feminine for a man, but this is hardly surprising. With just one glance at the demon's delicate hands, it becomes obvious that he has never had to do any dirty work in his life.

"While you were asleep I measured the size of your wrists to make sure the cuffs would fit properly. They do. And of course I measured various other things as well..," As Ghirahim stands back up, a bokoblin scurries into the room. It nearly runs into the demon and immediately utters an apology in a foreign language Link is only too familiar with. A set of skeleton keys clatter onto the ground.

The bokoblin shudders under its master's unwavering glare. Ghirahim tsks. The wretched little creature was supposed to have handed him the keys much earlier that day. "I already had to punish one of its kin earlier today," he mutters, his voice dripped with disgust. "The appalling little piece of filth failed to obey my orders in time. I don't take that sort of thing lightly." The bokoblin dips its head in shame and exits the room. Link can't help but find this interaction weird. This bokoblin seemed to be more intelligent than the others he had encountered.

"My sincere apologies, skychild. But I am going to be very busy today altering this peculiar world to my own liking." He gestured for Link to stand up as well. The cuffs made this difficult.

"Should you act up or even attempt to escape your chambers, I will skin you just as I did with a certain bokoblin earlier today. Are we clear?"

The fallen hero nods. He can feel his heart grow cold as his mind races with all the wonderful ways he could torture this demon. Oh, if only he had the chance.

As Ghirahim escorts him to his chambers, Link grins widely. Oh yes, he would have his revenge.


	3. Save us!

The room in which Link resides resembles that of a prison cell. The room is bare except for its Spartan accommodations- a tin bucket, candles that litter the floor, and a thin blanket. There are no windows. Because of this, Link relies on the candles for lighting. But the wicks are melting to the quick and he knows they won't last much longer.

Every so often, the fallen hero hears voices echoing into the halls. They come from just outside the door. Occasionally a couple of soldiers will stop and check in on him. They never stay long. Link sighs. There are six candles in the room and all of them have melted to mere stubs. Some of the wax has melted onto the cool cement. They offer no warmth in this freezing Hell. The ceiling comes down low, so low that Link cannot stand up. There is a crimson-coloured rug near the door made of Bokoblin flesh

A soft knock verberates on the wooden door. The boy glances up at it. _Who is that?_ The stranger knocks once more. "Hello? Link, are you there?" The stranger's voice is soft and feminine, much like Zelda's. Link's stomach does a flip. It can't be her, can it?

The girl begins fiddling with the metal bar that holds the door shut. The boy tenses and makes way for the candles; most of them have burnt out.

The girl manages to open the door. A blinding light filters into the room and illuminates upon the fallen hero's dirty form.

"Hello. I'm Mabel, and I know this is all new for you," says the girl, and goes to sit next to him on the cool cement. A kind smile graces her soft features. "I also know that you may quite possibly decline my request. But it's crucial that you stick with us because you're going to be here for a while. And I need a few favors from you."

"Favors.. of course," Link mumbles, to which Mabel bows her head in guilt. Auburn locks of greasy hair cling to her face. "You could really save us all," she mutters. "You're Ghirahim's favorite toy and you'll soon be his favorite servant as well. And Ghirahim isn't particularly close to anyone except Ganondorf. That's why we need you!" Her dark eyes light up in hope. "You can do that. Can't you? It's really a simple favor."

Link falls silent. " _You're Ghirahim's favorite toy,"_ Mabel's voice echoes in his head. Yes, he supposes he is. "Link, do this! Link, do that! Come on, don't be such a wimp! Help us out here!" Yes, people are always asking him for favors. And what can he do? He can't deny any of their requests, for he is the _hero_. And heroes have to do whatever keeps their citizens happy. Even if it means throwing out his humanity, Link, the fallen hero, must always obey their wishes. And more importantly, the will of the goddess. But what did it matter now? The hero has fallen and the tables have turned.

"So do we have a deal?" Mabel persists. She stares at the boy with that same silly, hopeful expression.

"What do you plan on doing?" Link inquires. The last candle flickers out, leaving the two blind and vulnerable to the darkness surrounding them.

Mabel clicks her tongue softly. "First of all, you and Ghirahim will likely grow very close in the next few weeks. This opens up all sorts of possibilities. He will open up to you more. And he's quite vain, so he'll probably talk about himself and communicate his plans more often to you. From his incessant venting you can gather plenty of information from him."

"There is no way I'm going to become that demon's slave."

"Servant!"

"No, I mean exactly what I said. "Servant" is too light of a word to describe how Ghirahim treats his slaves.

"….What happened to you, Link? You used to be so nice. Everyone loved you."

 _'Yeah well, people change'_

Mabel sighs. "Please just listen to me," she pleads. "I need you to gather information from Ghirahim regarding his plans for this world. I read about it in a book once, a place called "Hell." I don't remember everything about it, but I know Ganondorf plans on remodeling The Surface after it..." Mabel trails off. Her voice breaks a little.

"A-and it's horrible," she whispers. "It's a deep and desolate abode for evil and condemned spirits. Flames continuously burn and rain down from the sky.. The heat given off by the flames is 60 times hotter than any fire that burn in Eldin."

"I've never heard of such a place. But then again, I never thought this place existed, either."

Outside the door, a line of soldiers march noisily through the carpeted halls. Mabel casts the door a nervous glance, or at least what she thinks is the door, anyway.

A flamboyant tone of voice emerges from the halls. "Skychild~ I have an assignment for you!" The voice grows louder as Ghirahim gets closer. "Master and I need you and your crimson Loftwing to take us to Skyloft Unfortunately, I can't teleport there."

The door is pushed open. Light filters into the room once more. Mabel is well hidden behind the door and the shadows that remain. It only now dawns on Link just how thin she is.

The fallen hero shudders when Ghirahim grabs his arm. When Link doesn't move and instead glares at the demon, sharp nails dig into his arm and droplets of blood begin to dot the flesh. Link winces. "Come along then, skychild," the demon growls and drags the frail boy out of the room.


End file.
